What have I to Fear?
by The Littlest Frost Giant
Summary: When Loki labled himself a monster, there was more to the word than his heritage and his deeds and actions. No, beneath those green eyes lies one of Asgard's deepest and darkest secrets. He is not just Loki, God of Mischief. He is also Loki, the Scourge of Odin, the being the Nine Realms are horrified to even whisper about for fear that the Scourge will come. Cannon!Au
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Hah, I own nothing.

This is an answer to a prompt on Norsekink and a cannon!AU:

_"Scourge; 1. a whip or lash, especially for the infliction of punishment and torture. 2. a person or thing that applies or administers punishment or severe criticism. 3. a cause or affliction or calamity (disease and famine are scourges of humanity)_

_Loki is the Scourge of Odin and the most powerful sorcerer in the Nine Realms. When someone truly angers him, Odin sends Loki to met out punishment. The position has given Loki great power, but he hates it. It isn't the magic he dreamed of performing for Asgard when he started learning spells. Odin also commanded him to secrecy (a misguided attempt to prevent Loki being feared by the Asgardians)._

_Loki can create plagues that wipe out entire populations, famines that starve entire planets, extinctions or overpopulations (locusts ect) that devastate entire ecosystems, and calamity's that change the very shape of the land (wars and natural disasters). Odin keeps the Nine Realms in check with the threat of these._

_When Loki called himself a "monster" he really meant it - the revelation of his Jotun heritage enough to finally push him to say what he's thought of himself and the horrible things he's committed across the Nine Realms in Odin's name. It's also why he tried to destroy Jotunheim, along with destroying a part of himself he hated he was acting out a punishment he truly thought would please Odin._

_When Odin has need of his services, he goes to Midgard to give Loki orders - in front of the Avengers. Thor is horrified to learn Loki is the Scourge all in the Nine Realms live in terror of._

* * *

If one listens closely, one can strain their ears hard enough to hear it. The sound of a door closing shut. The sound of a graveyard's symphony. The sound of the night when the moon has reached the peak of its arc in the sky. The sound of silence. Irrevocable, dissonant _silence. _A cacophony of insanity.

Loki's hand, tucked gently into the aged folds of skin that make up his father's strong, meaty hand, trembles as the sounds of silence drifts over, caressing his ear. He feels his father squeeze his hand reassuringly and Loki returns the action. Their feet are clad in wool socks and they make no noise against the marble floors of the palace. Loki closes his eyes and unconsciously moves closer to his father, letting Odin lead him.

In the quiet storm of the mind, he blocks out the funeral silence that suffocates him, replacing it with thoughts. Loud, boisterous and obnoxious _thoughts. _He lets his mind wander, focusing on happier memories like the warm lips of his mother as they curve into a smile that he deceives himself to thinking is meant only for him. He brings up the memory of her nimble, smooth fingers as they run across his hair, slicking it back gently. Loki breathes and he remembers the palace when its golden light that spills in the hallowed halls instead of the eerie yet beautiful luminescent blue the moon casts.

The illusion takes over his mind, filling his senses, and Loki can almost bring himself to believe it. But the steady presence of his father beside him makes it very hard for him to believe his lie, his trick. Loki breathes again and tries again, letting the pieces of his memory construct a fantasy. But he fails once more.

Loki's eyes flutter open and he sneaks a glance at Odin's towering figure. His eyes crawl up the golden robes decorated with symbols and patterns he cannot discern in the moonlight until he reaches the stoic, bearded face he has come to know so well. He sees the metal eyepatch on his father's right eye, glinting every once in a while as it catches a sliver of light. The left eye, covered by a veil of sheer will that hides the Allfather's emotions, stares straight ahead, blue-eyed gaze revealing nothing as the owner walks.

The little princeling bites his soft lips, anxiety clouding the little ten year-old's mind. He glances briefly at the walls - or where he assumes the walls should be - and at the dancing shadows that twist and contort. His heart thuds in his chest and his hand shakes even more. _'They're not monsters, they're not monsters,'_ he thinks to himself as he grasps his father's hand even tighter. Father will protect him; he always chases the monsters - which _aren't _there to begin with - away. He shouldn't be afraid of what isn't there, he really shouldn't. But there is doubt in his heart every time he sees the shadows on the walls and the shadows that trail behind him and his father.

The Jotuns, the Frost Giants, are real, living beings that exist in the realm of ice and snow. He knows the stories about them, the tales of the hideous creatures that could be stalking the streets of Asgard, peering into windows and snatching children from their beds and families. He tells himself that the stories are improbable, brushing them off as products of a delirious man's imaginative and mead-ridden mind. But he hasn't yet quite mastered the art of twisting words into ones he wants to here. In his mind, the mere _possibility _of there being a monster still scares him.

Loki hangs his head in shame of his behaviour; if the others see him as he is now...He hears the voices of the children his age, their voices, their taunts, their jeers and mocking tones. He carries the memory of their words with him everywhere he goes and no matter what he tries to do, he can never drown them out. They're a part of him, a piece of his heart and mind; the voices and him are one. He tries to escape them but they always return to torment him with their insidious shrills and raspy whispers. Loki's breathing hitches slightly as the voices grow louder.

He tugs on his father's sleeve, calling attention to himself for the first time in the evening.

"Father, where are we going?" His voice is but a scared whisper, easily swallowed by the oppressive silence of the darkened hall. Odin inclines his head towards his youngest son and returns the frightened emerald stare with a firmer, almost _calming _one.

"My dear son, be not afraid." Odin is answered by a shaky nod and a small squeak that could have been an _'Okay.'_

They travel down the hall in silence with only each other as company. The whole palace and city are asleep, only they and a few select night watchmen are awake. Loki looks forward once more, gaze centering on the ever-looming door at the end of the hall.

It is only when he is a few paces away from the door that Loki realizes just how small he is compared to everything else. He feels diminutive and insignificant in the presence of the fortified wall-like structure before him as it opens up without so much as a command from the Allfather. Odin jerks his son forward and through the doorway and into foreboding room.

The first thing Loki notices is the twelve torches that line the circular room, creating even more shadows that flicker and dance on the walls. The room is simple and bare of any furniture and the second prince only as a second to ponder of the possible uses of the room when he hears a soft rustle.

His head snaps towards the middle of the illy lit room and his eyes widen. Chained to the ground by the legs is a small woodland animal, an innocent and defenseless rabbit. Loki stops and looks up at his father whose face has once again become like steel. He swallows thickly when Odin's unyielding gaze moves over to him and Loki could do nothing but stare back. He knows that trying to look away would result in disaster.

His father is silent – there that sound is again – as he reaches over and places a sleek, sharp dagger into Loki's thin, pale hand. He forces Loki's fingers to curl around the cool metal and pauses for a moment before pushing his son towards the rabbit who seemed to cower in fear of the raven-haired boy. If he listens closely, he can hear the small puffs of air the rabbit takes in as its beady eyes pierces his soul.

Loki's legs wobble and he fears for a moment that he will collapse, but Odin's solid hand on his shoulder prevents that from happening. The dagger is heavy and odd in his quivering palm; it does not fit at all. Odin ushers them closer to the rabbit until they are right above the poor creature.

Seconds tick by and soon melt into minutes.

There is a glint, a silver glint that sweeps across the room for the smallest of seconds.

And Loki hears it once more, the _silence._

* * *

Years pass by slowly for Loki as he plods along, trailing ever so slightly behind his brother Thor. Odin watches from behind, calculating gaze always trained on his youngest son, as if watching or waiting for Loki to mess up.

Loki is unnerved greatly by this, but at the same time please. Father is looking at him, not Thor, _Loki!_

Still, he tries to do what he can to please his father, following instructions and doing his utmost to always put in the effort to everything he does. When Odin's gaze travels back to Thor on some occasions, he begins to notice the gaping gap between him and his brother. The revelation displeases him and the little child begins to resort to harmless tricks and pranks to force the blue eye to stare at him. It's not that he's selfish or jealous, it's just that he wishes for once that Odin would notice him without noticing Thor first.

* * *

The room seems to dwarf him in all it's glory and splendor. Loki doesn't stutter in his walk as he crosses from one point to the other, head held up high and proud. Frankly, he doesn't quite see the need for such a '_ceremony_', thinking it a bit over the top and meaningless. He never really understood the Asgardians' infatuation with dressing up simple events with glitz and glamour. It might probably be because of tradition or perhaps Odin feels as if this particular event needs a ceremony.

Whatever the reason, the Allfather does what he wishes to do and who is he to question Father's motives and decisions?

Loki shakes his heads of such thoughts and begins to kneel before his father, stopping just short of the steps leading up to the dais Odin rests upon.

Odin watches him before striking Gungnir on the ground, the dull thud echoing loudly.

"Loki Odinson, my son, my second born. Gifted with the power of magic, the very energy that surrounds us all in silence. It is the embodiment of the mysteries of unknown answers waiting to be solved. But only a true master can recognize its tendrils and listen to the tales it tells. It is fitting weapon for a true sorcerer, the most powerful in all of the Nine Realms, to wield," Odin's voice booms like thunder as it easily fills the throne room, rumbling with authority. He sits upon his throne with Gungnir in hand, flanked by his two crows, Huginn and Muninn, looking every bit intimidating and omnipotent as the Allfather would. His aura practically screams _absolute power_ as it rolls off the Allfather in waves.

"Do you swear to use your powers eternal for the good of Asgard?" His stare is unfaltering, never failing to demand the immediate attention of whoever is on the receiving end. Loki looks up, green eyes locking with blue.

"I swear," the words flow out of his mouth like sweetened honey, well practiced and perfectly articulated. He resists the urge to bow his head in an attempt to escape Odin's imposing gaze and forces himself to stare steadily back. He is no longer that naive child who faithfully followed his father through the dark halls night after night at the oddest of hours. The novelty of the dagger's coldness and weight had worn off years ago; now it's a familiar, nearly soothing companion of his. Long forgotten is the feeling of pure, unadulterated horror his younger-self felt as splashes of ruby red stained his tunic, hands and face.

He is a man now, braver, stronger and now in possession of hands that no longer jitter with uncertainty. The simple act of masking his panic and fear has become a tedious reaction, easily brought forth when the situation calls for it.

"And do you swear to cast aside your mercy and to pledge yourself to smite whoever I choose with a vengeful strike?" The gravity of Odin's words hit Loki and he strips his face of any emotion before they have a chance to surface. He will not be weak, not a critical time like this. He must appear strong on the exterior even when on the inside, he is impatiently waiting for the moment where he can collapse and break down - not that he'd ever bring himself to commit such a degrading act.

"I swear." He will make father proud, by the Norns, he will stop at nothing to make father _proud_ of _him._

"Do you swear to secrecy, to seal your lips and to bring this to your grave?"

"I swear." There is a pause as Odin scrutinizes his son, searching Loki's face for something the young prince could not name. Apparently finding what he was looking for, Odin stands up at full height, making him seem even more commanding than before.

"And on this day, I Odin, Allfather, will proclaim you as my Scourge, the Harbinger of Chaos and Punishment in my name!" There is no applause or shouts of congratulations, only the ringing of Odin's words in his ears. Loki's hand, clenched above his heart as he bows before his father, tightens to the point where his perfectly filed nails break the skin of his palm, letting tiny beads of blood flow out. Loki bites his lips, chapped and weathered after years of abuse, in a rare moment of ambiguity and finally bows his head in resignation.

This is his life now.

But isn't this what he has been yearning for for years? His father finally acknowledges his capability as a warrior, as a _son_. Was his father's voice not dripping with pride as he spoke to him, did it not sound exactly like he had hoped it would? At last, he has achieved his life-long dream and there is no Thor to steal his spotlight for now they are equal. Should he not be _happy_? Should he not be filled with joy and pride now that his father's eye is focused on him rather than on Thor?

The room is empty, silent and _dead_ in response.

* * *

There you have it. The first chapter. I hope I didn't completely fail. As it was originally posted on Norsekink via Anonymous, I couldn't edit after I posted, some parts will seem different than the original. Why? Because the Fire Nation attacked. Haha, no. In truth, I added some parts, edited others and may or may not delete other parts in the future because of editing (blessed and cursed editing).

Why does English have to be so hard?! TT-TT

Every year on Midgard equates to about 116 years on Asgard - this is headcanon by the way. So Loki and Thor will appear to be 20-something year olds on Earth, but back 'home', they are around 2000-something year olds. At the beginning, Loki is around 1162 years old. For the sake of simplicity, I put him as 10.

Also, I didn't know whether to put this in the Thor category or Avengers category. I guessed Avengers because this will grow to include them later on...and elements of the movie will be added.

And YES! I did use a mock-up of Thor's not-coronation from the movie Thor so the lines in the last segment are not entirely mine. I claim no ownership over it.

Anywho, happy reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Bahahaha - wait, you're serious. Nope, no siree! I own nothing.

This is an answer to a prompt on Norsekink and a cannon!AU:

_"Scourge; 1. a whip or lash, especially for the infliction of punishment and torture. 2. a person or thing that applies or administers punishment or severe criticism. 3. a cause or affliction or calamity (disease and famine are scourges of humanity)_

_Loki is the Scourge of Odin and the most powerful sorcerer in the Nine Realms. When someone truly angers him, Odin sends Loki to met out punishment. The position has given Loki great power, but he hates it. It isn't the magic he dreamed of performing for Asgard when he started learning spells. Odin also commanded him to secrecy (a misguided attempt to prevent Loki being feared by the Asgardians)._

_Loki can create plagues that wipe out entire populations, famines that starve entire planets, extinctions or overpopulations (locusts ect) that devastate entire ecosystems, and calamity's that change the very shape of the land (wars and natural disasters). Odin keeps the Nine Realms in check with the threat of these._

_When Loki called himself a "monster" he really meant it - the revelation of his Jotun heritage enough to finally push him to say what he's thought of himself and the horrible things he's committed across the Nine Realms in Odin's name. It's also why he tried to destroy Jotunheim, along with destroying a part of himself he hated he was acting out a punishment he truly thought would please Odin._

_When Odin has need of his services, he goes to Midgard to give Loki orders - in front of the Avengers. Thor is horrified to learn Loki is the Scourge all in the Nine Realms live in terror of._

* * *

Unbeknownst to most Asgardians and even Heimdall, there is a series of networks of hidden routes that work their ways up and down Yggdrasil, connecting realms with other realms. The opening to the pathways are concealed with mats of magical string, stitching the rifts in space closed and effectively keeping anyone who happens to accidentally stumble upon them out. Though the chances of someone even finding an opening are slim for they are _hidden_ for a _reason_ even if that reason remains unknown. But if one did happen to find not only a pathway, but also a way to cut the threads away in order to pry the opening open, they would be free to travel to _all _the realms undetected.

When Loki first heard of these cracks in the trunk and branches of Yggdrasil, his scholarly mind and natural curiosity drove him to endure many frustrating years of research and failed attempts to locate the passages. While he has developed a seemingly endless amount of patience as Thor's brother, he does in fact have a limit to how much he can take before he finally gives into his anger.

Since Loki isn't one to lose his dignity and indulge in any acts of violence, he prefers to busy himself with many projects at once until till he collapses from exhaustion. He would start reading a book, only to stop mid-chapter and switch over to practicing some spells, before deciding that something in the palace needs fixing - there usually _is_ something - and his magic is the only thing that can fix whatever is broken. About half-way finished with his task, he would abandon it and return to his book to eventually repeat the cycle once more. This carries on for, at minimum, a couple hours or if he is really agitated, a couple weeks. Occasionally, however, he does find himself throwing whatever he has on hand across the room in a rare Thor-like tantrum.

He doesn't like to admit it, but there is something uniquely cathartic and relieving about seeing a book crash against the wall or a plate shatter into millions of tiny ceramic pieces.

After the deaths of about a hundred plates or so - to which his mother, Frigga, was absolutely _furious_ about - the time he spent on what was beginning to seem like an exercise in futility paid off when he finally discovered a pathway. It would take him several weeks later to carefully unravel the strands that blocked it before he could reap his hard-earned rewards, but he didn't let the wait bother him. At long last, he had accomplished what he had set out to do; waiting was very trivial after that. The knowledge that he had found a way to slip away from Heimdall's gaze not only did wonders to his self-confidence, but it proved to him that magic wasn't as useless as he was beginning to think. The pride in himself that he felt was immeasurable and pure. The secret pathways were _his _and his alone.

And Loki absolutely _loves_ it.

On the day of discovery, he had made himself promise to only use the passages to gain and collect knowledge from the other realms. For every trip he makes, he has to be cautious that, for the good of Asgard, he is not seen or if he needs to go out in public that he is not remembered. Even with all the safety measures he takes, he has encountered more than his fair share of close calls. One of them involved a drunken Midgardian pinning him to a wall and nearly having his way with the trickster god. It was purely by luck that a random passerby had come to his rescue. Otherwise, he would have been forced to use his magic and that would have broken his strict no-magic policy - the explanation to Father would have been just _lovely_.

But the most important vow he made that day was that once his people became more receptive to magic and non-traditional methods of doing things, he would share his findings with everyone else. He did not spend years of trial and error only to stow away the critical knowledge he gained. One of the greatest rewards a scholar could gain for his studies is the recognition and respect of his fellow scholars. Besides, his discovery was _good_.

It deserves to be shared.

What it does not deserve is to be exploited and used for evil intentions.

When Loki wished for the day where he could reveal his proudest achievement to the Allfather in hopes of some approval, he did not mean for it to become a key component in the suffering of many. To carry out his duties as the newly appointed Scourge of Odin, he needs another way to sneak into the realms without being caught. The Bifrost, while utterly efficient and amazing in its own ways, will do nothing but attract some very unwanted attention. Without a way to silently traverse through the realms, his mission remains at a standstill.

This is why Loki finds himself biting his lips as he stands before his father in the king's private chambers. The gleam in Odin's eyes tells him that his father knows he's hiding something and Loki very much doubts he'll be able to leave until he lets the truth drip from his mouth.

It's a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils, really.

He doesn't want to sully the secret passages by using them to enable to destruction of innocents. But at the same time, he has to obey father for if he fails to do so, Loki will disappoint the one person he has been trying to please once more. Not to mention that this is the one time that Odin has shown _trust_ in his second son and the abilities said son possesses. But there is still a nagging feeling in the back of his mind reminding Loki that killing - no, _slaughtering _- intelligent beings will leave blood stains that stick for far longer than the ones from animal blood. Even if the blood belongs to the Jotuns, the spillage of such a precious liquid can't be justified for no one, no matter how monstrous they and their acts may seem, deserves to have their life taken away in such a manner.

Monsters are still _living _and _breathing_ beings.

It is then that Loki realizes that should he succumb to Odin's will, somewhere along the line, he will be a murderer; a monster himself.

_'Is it worth it?'_

"Loki, for all your knowledge, you do not mean to say that have you not found some alternative methods?" Odin says and even an ignorant oaf could recognize the bitter disapproval in the statement.

Loki hesitates.

"There is perhaps...another way."

Odin's lips turn upwards, a barely noticeable movement, but to Loki's eyes who have spent years analyzing and watching the body language of others, the words unspoken leave him feeling even more at war with himself.

* * *

_'This does not make sense,' _Loki thinks as the snow crunches under his leather boots, white cloak fluttering wildly behind him. The falling snow is heavy and plentiful, obscuring his vision but at the same time, keeping him well out of sight. He pauses, his stride stuttering to a stop, and looks around briefly before moving once more. There is a sea of white in every direction, covering the barren, frozen ground with fluffy powder that when compressed, becomes as hard as rock. Crystals rise in large stacks from the ground, jagged and sharp, yet their blue tint gives them the appearance of sapphires. Spires of rock dwarf him by their sheer size, easily giving him the cover he needs as he slinks through the mini tunnels and arches. The sky is covered in a dome of dark grayish-blue, leading him to think that it is nighttime in Jotunheim.

_'But why Jotunheim? We just ended a war with the Frost Giants; surely there must be no reason to strain the already tenuous peace between our kinds any more.'_

Loki sighs and pulls the hood up as it begins to slip off his head; it is not his place to doubt the Allfather. After-all, there is always a purpose to what Odin does.

Green sparks dance eagerly from his finger tips, sizzling with promise, as he comes across a cliff that overlooks a rural town. He bites his lips and begins to make his way down from his perch, a desolate feeling forming in the pit of his stomach.

Loki walks through the latent town, steps quieter than the wind that howls through the empty spaces between the make-shift huts. The buildings themselves are constructed by ice, opaque, black ice that give nothing away when he peers at them curiously. The doors to the makeshift houses are closed, secure and locked against the cold and any loose Giants - or in this case, any loose Aesir with one very good invisibility charm - who prowl through the night unseen.

_'Fascinating,' _Loki admires with a childish captivation. Asgard doesn't really have a winter season. Snow is an uncommon sight amongst his people so seeing what it looks like with his own two eyes as opposed to what his mind could conjure up – which, he realizes, pales in comparison to the real deal – is nothing if not a marvelous experience. Oddly enough, he doesn't feel the chill of the land of frost and ice at all. It would have been alarming if not for the fact that he at least had the foresight to dress warmly enough, layering his normal attire with furs and pelts.

Shrugging the issue off, he continues his procession through the bare streets. With the steady beat of the silence he picks up on, Loki can't help but feel a certain atmosphere of peace and serenity.

'_Such a shame…_'

A frown tugs at his mouth. He can almost feel Heimdall's eyes - Father doesn't take too well to him being hidden from sight, especially on his '_contracts'_ - watching his every move, ready to notify the Allfather should he fail to complete the mission.

Sighing and shaking his head, Loki feels magic's eager pull as she sings her soft chant over and over, beckoning him with spindly tendrils. Something fizzles underneath his skin and a faint outline of green shimmers across his hands. Muttering an ancient dialect under his breath, he raises his arms, jade eyes glowing with energy. A tingling sensation starts at his fingers, slowly climbing up his arms and eventually pulsing throughout his body. He exhales through his nose, increasing the amount of energy he expends exponentially.

'_I'm sorry,_' he thinks, '_I really am._'

Magic in the form of green mist lazily pours out from his body, rolling along the ground, spreading in all directions. The night is young, the mist has plenty of time to cover the surrounding region with is poisonous, hoarse whispers.

Loki watches on with a heavy heart and a face contorted in displeasure.

_'Your will is done Father, are you proud of your son now?'_

* * *

The next day, the Jotnar are horrified to find that in the outskirts of the realm, _none _of their first born children arise from their slumber.

It is not long before Laufey's court begins to fill with his subjects and warriors, all equally shaken by the massacre.

"Only an Aesir would do such a heinous deed!" A soldier shouts, standing proud and tall with a storm of anger in his red eyes. Nods and voices of agreement rise through the crowd and Laufey has to silence them before the situation has a chance to grow out of control.

"_Fool_! We had not seen Bifrost's tell-tale signs of activation; no Aesir warrior could have come here without us knowing. And there are more realms than just the Asgard." Another comments, voice dripping with malice.

"Surely they must have found another way!" The soldier shoots back, completely disregarding any possibilities of the culprit not being an Asgardian. For all of them, it's very easy to just assume that the '_gods'_ were behind everything. They're weak and defenseless, but still very much alive. Maybe they are a shadow of their former selves, but there is still hope for restoration and glory to be had. It would be so easy for an Asgardian to saunter into Jotunheim for the sole purpose of dashing that thin thread of hope.

"Enough! I will have order in my court!" Laufey growls out, barely restraining his anger. Even _he_ is disturbed about the deaths of the future generation of his race. He rubs his forehead and looks up to glare at the faces present before him. The rumble of voices eventually teeters off to silence.

"Servant!" He calls and a Frost Giant walks to kneel before him, "What of the guards' testimonies? Have they anything to say about the happenings of last night?"

"My lord, there was no activity reported from the guards other than a strange mist that appeared sometime late into the evening when everyone was sleeping," a servant, scared witless, reports. "Other than that, no one had been seen."

Laufey screams in rage, clenching the arm rests of his throne until large serrations are added to the fancy embellishments of ice. There are no known users of magic left on Jotunheim; the last one died from his wounds sustained from the war.

Yet something about this chills him so. The death of young ones, the _first borns_ to be precise. He had a child once.

"This was the work of Asgard's sorcerers for sure!"

"The Allfather preaches about peace, but it is he who carries out acts of war!"

"He will strike again, we must take action and avenge our young!"

"_Silence!_" Laufey jumps to his feet and yells for order, not able to contain his temper any longer.

"Are you all so blind? Even it it was an Aesir sorcerer, what does it matter? _This_ was not an act of war." He steps down from the platform his throne was perched upon, feeling the eyes of many watching his every move. "And we cannot just retaliate against those monsters! Not without the Casket, not without our source of power." His lips curl into a snarl, "This is a reminder. A reminder of what shall happen to us should we even think about going against the _peace_ between our two realms."

And a reminder of something else, something he can't quite put his tongue on.

* * *

It is still quite late into the night by the time Loki stumbles back into his room with the grace of a drunkard. He struggles to lift the protective wards he placed on his doors and he knows it's not because he has exhausted his supply of magic. As if to prove his point, his hands shake with renewed fervor after years of meticulously learning to keep them steady.

Disgust is an ugly emotion.

The second he hears the click, Loki bolts into his room and re-locks the door behind him, wards humming in confirmation that they have resumed their duty as his invisible guards. He blindly reaches for the nearest corner and after locating it, he slides against the wall until he's sitting on the floor with his legs propped up to his chest.

His pupils are but tiny black dots, easily overwhelmed by a sea of dull, lifeless green. Loki folds in on himself, greedily gulping down air in short, stuttering gasps. Dizziness clouds his mind and he feels himself losing the ability to think.

All he wants is to escape.

His destination does not matter; all he needs is a chance to flee from everything. Staying still, he feels as if he's dying, slowly suffocating from the weight on his shoulders. He tries to force himself to stand, but his body refuses to cooperate. He wants the pain to stop, it hurts so much. He is going to die and the fear won't leave him.

His hands snake their way up his face and entangle themselves in his dark hair, still dusted with the white flecks of snow. He pulls on his raven locks, nearly taking out chunks of his now disheveled hair. A scream builds in his throat and he opens his mouth to let it out, but no noise escapes him.

He brings his hands to his front and stares at them, horrified.

Red blots out his vision and he tries to scream again but to no avail. Blood drips onto the floor, trickling through his fingers. The blood of his enemies, the blood of monsters, the blood of innocent _children_.

_'What did I do? What did I just do?'_

His palms are clammy and his breathing his ragged; all he can hear is the sharp thumps of his heart and the blood rushing in his ears. He swallows a lump in his throat, mouth uncomfortably dry. Shakily he raises a hand and touches his cheeks.

Wet.

_'Monstermonstermonstermonster monster._'

Seconds tick by, easily melting into minutes. Time slips by in meaningless fragments and all Loki can do is tremble and twitch as he is lost in his own destructive thoughts.

* * *

[Edit]: Fuuuuudge. The page breakers didn't appear.

Oh my, I wasn't expecting that kind of a response. Thank-you all for the reviews, faves and alerts! I treasure them all!

Because of that, I decided to post the chapter early! Thank-you once more!

Anywho, on the story. I would like to clarify (because I am horrible at making things clear) that the part where we are right now happen quite a few years before the movie Thor. Loki is young enough to not be completely overridden with jealousy and spite (and still be innocent, no pranks and stuff out of pure malice yet!) and Thor is young enough to be more of a brother to our resident Trickster. He's still attached to Loki in a way most siblings are...Yeah.

Until the next chapter! Happy reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Me? In ownership of Marvel? I think not! Though, here's to deluded dreams and even more deluded hoping!

This is an answer to a prompt on Norsekink and a cannon!AU:

_"Scourge; 1. a whip or lash, especially for the infliction of punishment and torture. 2. a person or thing that applies or administers punishment or severe criticism. 3. a cause or affliction or calamity (disease and famine are scourges of humanity)_

_Loki is the Scourge of Odin and the most powerful sorcerer in the Nine Realms. When someone truly angers him, Odin sends Loki to met out punishment. The position has given Loki great power, but he hates it. It isn't the magic he dreamed of performing for Asgard when he started learning spells. Odin also commanded him to secrecy (a misguided attempt to prevent Loki being feared by the Asgardians)._

_Loki can create plagues that wipe out entire populations, famines that starve entire planets, extinctions or overpopulations (locusts ect) that devastate entire ecosystems, and calamity's that change the very shape of the land (wars and natural disasters). Odin keeps the Nine Realms in check with the threat of these._

_When Loki called himself a "monster" he really meant it - the revelation of his Jotun heritage enough to finally push him to say what he's thought of himself and the horrible things he's committed across the Nine Realms in Odin's name. It's also why he tried to destroy Jotunheim, along with destroying a part of himself he hated he was acting out a punishment he truly thought would please Odin._

_When Odin has need of his services, he goes to Midgard to give Loki orders - in front of the Avengers. Thor is horrified to learn Loki is the Scourge all in the Nine Realms live in terror of._

* * *

Something warm hits his cheeks and he hisses, turning his head to the side to escape the burning sensation only to meet cold, hard, unforgiving stone. He winces weakly and opens his eyes, blinking a couple times before his blurry world snaps back into focus. Blobs become three dimensional shapes, sharply defined in the piercing light of what he thinks to be the afternoon sun. He blinks again, back straightening and joints popping as his primary mental functions start coming back to him.

Afternoon?

Loki groans and falls back onto the wall, regretting it when moments afterwards a dull throb of pain in his back makes itself known. Had he slept in the corner? He must have; the sore back and the stiff joints proves it. He presses a hand against his temples and closes his eyes, trying to work his way through the fog inside his mind. His head is pounding and it feels like it had been cleaved in two by Heimdall's sword. Thinking - he very much hates it right now.

_Knock._

He stifles a rather derogatory, animal-like noise, and props himself against the walls, knees creaking in protest from staying locked in such an uncomfortable position for so long. What in all the realms could have made him think that sleeping in the corner would be a better alternative to his bed? His soft, fluffy bed with its thin, insulating covers that felt like silk against his skin...

_Blood drips onto the floor, trickling through his fingers. The blood of his enemies, the blood of monsters, the blood of innocent_ children_**.**_

It takes a while for the phrase to sink in before his eyes snap open, coherent thought present inside them for the first time since waking. Memories from last night flood his brain and all he can muster is a dumb, "Oh." His breath hitches and he rests his weight against the walls, feeling oddly boneless and weak to his stomach.

Oh.

_Knock._

"Loki?" Hazily, the word _'Mother'_registers in his mind.

He awkwardly makes his way towards the door, leaning against the wall for support with his usual graceful movements jerky and robotic. His lithe fingers move and he flicks his wrist, lifting his ward with a familiar gesture before curling his palm around his door knob to open the door. Loki sighs tiredly, running a worn hand through his hair. He grimaces when it comes back greasy.

"Hello Mother," he greets her carefully. "To what do I owe this gracious visit?" In all honesty, he wants nothing more than a chance to hide away from the world for a day or two. He needs time for silence and solitude to think over the recent events and sort his thoughts out. Not like he ever gets what he wants, but here's to hoping.

Frigga smiles, eyes twinkling mysteriously, "My dear son, you seem ill at ease. What troubles you so?"

"It is nothing that you should spend your time worrying about. I was merely awake most of the night, researching," he lies smoothly, chest tightening with each word. "I must have fallen asleep sometime during early morning. My sincerest apologies if I had caused you any trouble."

A smile decorates her face once more, but a small twitch of her eyebrow tells Loki that she doesn't believe a word he says. Obviously the lack of sleep is getting to him, dulling his silvertongue to the point that even a mongrel like Thor could point out what were lies and what were truths. It isn't because Frigga knows how to strip his defenses away, leaving him feeling vulnerable and exposed under her scrutinizing gaze.

Obviously.

"Then I must strongly urge you to sleep, Loki. It is not healthy to overexert yourself." She brushes her smooth hands across the taut skin of his cheeks, rubbing soothing circles. He is reminded of his childhood, where he would fall asleep curled onto his mother's lap, letting her comforting ministrations and warm voice gently lull him to sleep. He resists seeking that motherly nurturing he has come to know so well; Mother must _never_ know.

"I will once I finish my research, I am almost finished."

Frigga shakes her head, "No, my child, to bed." She ushers him along smoothly, letting him crawl under the covers before pulling them up to his chin. He lets her stroke his cheek, his jaw, and his hair in a never-ending cycle. Loki's eyelids grow heavy and black begins to creep against his vision, the only clear image amongst the darkness being his mother.

"Sweet dreams, my prince," Frigga whispers, placing a tender kiss on his forehead. She caresses his cheek once more, before letting her arms fall back to her side, taking their warmth with them. He evens his breathing and stills his urges to twitch, feigning sleep like he has done so many times before.

He listens to the soft clicks of her shoes against the marble floors, the turning of a door knob, the creak of the door and the following echoes of her steps reverberating in the halls, before opening his eyes and shifting positions.

It isn't a minute after she has left before another knock is heard on his door, though this time a servant greets him.

"Prince Loki, the Allfather requests an audience with you."

* * *

Loki all but glides down the halls, going as fast as he possibly can while still keeping his footfalls light and nearly imperceptible. The hairs on his neck stand straight up and his heart is thumping away, each beat sounding like thunder to his ears. He is not ready for a confrontation with Father, he has yet to have the time to fully resume his apathetic, professional guise. After years of playing the part of the dark prince who could care less about the dangers of messing with the natural and unnatural forces, he is still nothing more than that frightened child with his eyes frantically glancing around in suspicion and paranoia.

He still hasn't quite forgotten the feeling of complete and utter weakness. He is _never good enough, _no matter what he tries to accomplish and prove. Loki wasn't always a sorcerer and he hadn't always been so well versed in the world of magic and spells. He still knows what it feels like to be helpless, to be alone and frightened beyond belief, to be truthful - he's all of those things right now.

Sweat cascades down his back, causing his tunic to stick to him uncomfortably. He frowns, lines from years of his lips curving downwards apparent even on his young, boy-ish face.

He's scared, very scared.

Even as he raises his hand, knuckles ready to strike the door, he fights to keep them from trembling too badly. He bites his lips and soon three equally spaced knocks sound throughout the quiet halls containing all of the royal family's private chambers. He moves from his lips to the inside of his cheeks, softly chewing off bits of skin, falling back onto a familiar, nervous habit he picked up years ago. A deep breath later, he is still no where near calm enough when the ornate doors, intricately decorated with ancient runes and symbols, pull open, revealing an aged man with a white beard and a crown of hair falling wildly onto his shoulders.

"Loki," Odin greets, not bothering to offer a curt nod even as a courtesy. Loki would be lying if he says that it did not perturb him, but then again, he _is _the god of lies. Still, his frown deepens.

"My king," Loki bows his head reverently as a sign of respect and lets himself be ushered into the room. Odin glances across the hall as if scanning them for any potential eavesdroppers before closing the gold-embossed door behind him.

The Allfather sat down by his desk, still every bit as intimidating as Loki remembers him to be. The dark haired god of mischief shifts, letting one leg carry most of his weight before switching to the other. There is silence between them and Loki's heart rate spikes for the second time in half an hour.

"Was your mission successful?" A question, yes, but coming from Odin, it sounded more like a statement.

_Are they disposed of?_

"Yes," Loki starts off, bringing up the brief speech he has planned on the way over to fruition. "The deed has been done and the Jotnar have been properly reminded of their place. They will not trouble us for a long time."

_Yes, I have killed them, as you, my Father, has commanded me to do._

Odin makes a, _'hmm' _sound and Loki becomes apprehensive, coiling up inside. They have long since forged a secret language between them, using words unsaid and subtle gestures and expressions to communicate.

"Heimdall sees all."

_You have not told me what I already did not know._

Loki shrugs, "I am fully aware of that fact, Father. I have made sure to keep myself present in his sight whilst cloaking myself from any stray Frost Giants."

_Did I not carry out the deed in your name? I did not try to shame you, you know me better than anyone else._

"He tells me that you had paused," Odin returns, "hesitating for a moment before casting your magic."

_You felt - no, __**feel**__ - mercy for them._

"Forgive me for my incompetence then. I am afraid that I had difficulties adjusting to the cold temperatures of Jotunheim. I had not foreseen such a stark difference. I was distracted and therefore could not focus enough to carry out the…punishment right away." Loki concludes, feigning an air of passiveness.

_Allow me another chance, next time will be different. I promise._

"The mind is tricky." Odin says, posture rigid, seeing through Loki's lie as if it were glass. Asgard may comment on how it seems impossible that the two are related given their obvious contrast in appearances, but no one can deny the all-too familiar cunning and wisdom that is apparent in the second son. That's why Loki is so eager to please and so hungry for his father's love and approval; he bears the face of the Allfather and the last thing he wants is to sully his father's reputation.

_Do you think me stupid?_

"Indeed."

_Of course not, Father._

"This will not happen again, will it? You have already broken one of your pledges and it is seems to be customary for you to fall into such...habits." Loki flinches and blinks before regaining his composure. Odin continues, undeterred, "Words are your weapons and they will seek their battles be it of your own intentions or not."

_'Well, that certainly is simple enough,' _Loki surmises.

"I understa-"

Odin cuts in, voice hard and sharp, "Do you?"

_You are a lie-smith._

Loki's mouth tightens and he clenches his fist, feeling his blood boil for a fleeting moment, "I have no reason not to."

_You say so._

Odin stares at Loki, the same searching look present in the age-old blue eyes of the Allfather, pilfering the life out of him slowly. Loki looks back, trying to act unaffected but he isn't so sure he's conveying it correctly. Suddenly, the taste of a metallic element, copper most likely, fills his mouth and he barely restrains the urge to cringe. He must have absently sawed off a rather significant chunk of skin.

He breathes out deeply and forces himself to meet his father's eyes unfalteringly and he succeeds for the most part. It is only when Odin's features softens ever so slightly, various wrinkles receding somewhat, that he almost heaves a sigh of relief. The relief is smothered to ashes when a second later, the reproachful gaze seeps back into Odin's eyes.

Unable to continue in the silent battle of wills, Loki breaks away, face downcast and flushed with shame. He sputters out an apology, quickly asking to leave before turning on his heel when the barest of nods is given. Though he knows he must look like a drunkard stumbling through the halls after a night of indulgence when he rushes out of the room whilst trying to retain some dignity and princely grace. With his gangly too-long legs fumbling over themselves and reddened cheeks and sickly pallor, he is nothing short of socially unacceptable.

He, fortunately, encounters no one as he stumbles back into his room. He locks himself in for the entirety of the day and not once does anyone come to his door, expressing their concerns for the health of the second prince. Loki knows it's because it's not unusual for him to seclude himself for hours to days on end. He usually finds solace in the silence of his room, either pulling the strings for a master plan or simply because he could not take the strain of being social any longer. He is, by nature, an introvert and Asgard and his family have grown accustomed to his self-imposed isolations.

He immerses himself into his studies and pulls book after book from his shelves. Pen in hand, he opens a notebook and starts to jot down notes on spells he's already perfected just to keep his mind occupied. His tongue, a sliver of pink against his blood-red lips, sticks out as a testament to his frenzied workaholic state.

When his hand begins to cramp up from being forced to stay in writing position for far too long, he cleans up his work space and grabs a worn-down tome from the floor before seating himself on his balcony. He opens up the book to a dog-eared page and lets his eyes travel across the black splotches of ink, roughened, yellowing pages crinkling under his hands. Despite his attempts, he gives up the ruse after he realizes he has read the same sentence about seventeen times now. He shuts book harshly, tossing it through the doorway leading into his room with little care about where it would land.

The evening wind drifts lazily over to him and plays with his hair, moving it out of its slicked position and letting it fall over his eyes in a tangled, matted mess. He shivers, a memory playing in his mind.

He curls in on himself and sighs, trying to ignore the incessant thoughts of issues he knew he had to deal with fraying on his delicate mind. They nag and filter their way through the maelstrom of useless thoughts he conjures up to dissuade them from his real problem. Left alone, with nothing to dull the sharp edges of the truth, he finds himself falling back into the conversation from the morning.

'_No, Loki, you're thinking too much. Stop this while you can.'_

But he can't. He _won't_.

Odin is always expecting something from him, be it a reaction or a favour, it's always something that he has to attain and later offer up. Loki quite often finds himself floundering under his father's intense stare; he knows he's not Thor.

He wants a son to be proud of.

That son is not and never will be Loki.

* * *

He can see it in Mother's eyes, the constant glances filled with concern and worry every time she sees him. Or rather, every time she _can _see him. Loki's sporadic disappearances have been noticed and when asked, the prince brushes off the questions with the claim of research and projects. Suffice to say, most of the general populace and even some of Loki's - _Thor's -_ friends begin to suspect that not everything is quite right with the young sorcerer.

It's when Loki begins to pull pranks and harmless bouts of mischief that they back off on their claims, concern being replaced with wariness. At first, it is to cover up his absences, to say that he was scheming because no one believed his speeches about research - not that he didn't expect that. Then Loki began to _enjoy_ pulling tricks and deceptions, it gave him something to do, something for his mind to work with because he needed to be clever and cunning to pull the wool over some people. It's also a very good distraction.

Of course, all his fun and games end when he hears the idle gossip of people as they ambled around, talking in low whispers about the dark prince who is most likely conspiring bigger and more harmful ploys because one who does evil can only be evil.

They aren't wrong, if only they just _knew_ exactly why.

Odin's anger, it seems, knows no bounds and while Loki's found himself on the receiving end on more than one occasion, he still has an inkling that what he's seen so far, what he's experienced will _never_ hope to measure up to the aptly hidden fury brewing inside his father. When the Allfather was younger, he had no need of a scourge to send out and relay his punishments. No, the man would have done it himself, with his own bare hands! No one escaped his rage.

But now, Odin is older, _weaker_. This seems to be the only inheritance Loki is ever going to get because it's obvious to everyone that Thor will have the throne.

_Monster._

Whenever he sees is hands, delicate and small, he can't help but see past the porcelain skin and straight into his dark blood almost black with his sins. But sometimes, he only sees the reddest of reds, the shade of Thor's cape, which covers his skin in a repulsive thick liquid that refuses to wash out with water. He's tries; he's tries and ultimately fails to rub out the damned spot.

It is eternally a part of him, as much a piece of his soul as the monster that lives inside him. He has committed myriads of atrocities with his hands, his mind and his magic. There is no return for him, no redemption, no light. All he has known is the darkness and he will continue to dwell in there. At least in the shadows, his mistakes and hideous nature is hidden, concealed and locked away.

The only way now is forward.

His '_pranks_' will only become grander and maybe even a bit of malice will be tossed in because of the people's ignorance to his reasons. His disappearances will continue and maybe some will even last weeks, months if Odin is _truly_ furious. His heart will become darker, without a doubt, as he compensates for the weight of his acts.

But he'll still be Loki. Loki, son of Odin and Frigga, brother of Thor. Maybe he won't be the same Loki, but he's Loki nonetheless...

At least with that, Loki can lie and lie and lie until his lies are on the cusp of being truths for they have nowhere else to go as lies. The sweetest illusions, after-all, are always the ones he fabricates solely for himself.

* * *

My good old-fashioned feels are hurting. Someone help me, it's too easy to torture Loki.

I appreciate all the feedback! I'm honestly astonished. I thank-you all for every review, alert and fave because well, they're all so special and make me grin like a loon everytime my e-mail box has a new notification :D

Till next time, happy reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: No. Go somewhere else and leave me to angst over how I do not own Marvel.

This is an answer to a prompt on Norsekink and a cannon!AU:

_"Scourge; 1. a whip or lash, especially for the infliction of punishment and torture. 2. a person or thing that applies or administers punishment or severe criticism. 3. a cause or affliction or calamity (disease and famine are scourges of humanity)_

_Loki is the Scourge of Odin and the most powerful sorcerer in the Nine Realms. When someone truly angers him, Odin sends Loki to met out punishment. The position has given Loki great power, but he hates it. It isn't the magic he dreamed of performing for Asgard when he started learning spells. Odin also commanded him to secrecy (a misguided attempt to prevent Loki being feared by the Asgardians)._

_Loki can create plagues that wipe out entire populations, famines that starve entire planets, extinctions or overpopulations (locusts ect) that devastate entire ecosystems, and calamity's that change the very shape of the land (wars and natural disasters). Odin keeps the Nine Realms in check with the threat of these._

_When Loki called himself a "monster" he really meant it - the revelation of his Jotun heritage enough to finally push him to say what he's thought of himself and the horrible things he's committed across the Nine Realms in Odin's name. It's also why he tried to destroy Jotunheim, along with destroying a part of himself he hated he was acting out a punishment he truly thought would please Odin._

_When Odin has need of his services, he goes to Midgard to give Loki orders - in front of the Avengers. Thor is horrified to learn Loki is the Scourge all in the Nine Realms live in terror of._

* * *

Thor munches happily at the apple he swiped from the kitchen not too long ago, humming in content as his bout of hunger is slowly being satisfied - he still has a whole bag of apples to devour so he pays no mind to the alarming rate he's consuming his bounty at. He treks back to his room while moonlight spills into the hallowed halls, discoluoring everything with an pale blue. His feet slap against the marble floors harshly, disrupting the silence of the night - not that he really cares, no, Thor has food to worry about. He never has truly appreciated the more delicate art of stealth, preferring instead to rush headlong into the heat of a battle, the familiar weight of Mjölnir singing in his calloused, war-worn hands. Battle is a glorious time for fun and laughter, _his _fun and laughter, and he hates to think of it being spent as a time for skirting around the edges, hidden like a coward.

Not that there is anything wrong with such tactics. His brother uses them quite often and begrudging as he is to admit it, Thor sees _some_value in the more unconventional methods to win a war. Its just that warriors of Asgard are to be known for their strength and valor, not their dishounor - that is, if they had any - and deceit.

_'Oh well,'_ Thor sighs. _'Some do battle, others do tricks.'_

Speaking of his brother, Thor's steady pace stutters to a slow stop before two gold doors covered in a thin layer of green magic. The doors had closed some time ago and they haven't opened since. He knows, he's checked them regularly and even Mother had given her account that she must have been one of the last to see Loki before yet another of his isolations began. Concern flickers briefly across his face and Thor quickly finishes his apple, barely restraining the urge to toss it over his shoulders. The servants have already gone to bed and his mother would have his head if she found out that an apple core had been left of the floor thanks to his own impudence.

Stuffing the core into a leather, drawstring bag he kept on his person, he raised one meaty hand - such a contrast to his brother's hands, they are so tiny compared to not only his but everyone's hands, including mother's - and rapped gently against the door.

Three months. It's been three months and since then, Thor has seen less and less of his brother until one week, he never saw him at all. Then the tricks started and harmless as they were, Loki really only indulged in some of his '_fun'_ when he was bored. Though, that seems to be a highly improbable conclusion. Loki is not simply bored.

And even when suffering from boredom, Loki never locks himself away.

"Brother?" he calls out softly, worry settling deep inside him. Loki hasn't been present for any meals and Thor wonders if Loki has eaten anything at all. Horror washes over him at the notion and he dismisses it to the darker depths of his mind, instead telling himself that Loki is smart, that Loki in all his meticulous glory would at least know to tend to his body's basic needs. He procures another apple - also stolen - and waits patiently for a response. Loki isn't what most would describe as vain, but he has a slight obsession with making sure he is presentable and impeccably dressed. Thor is not one for fashion nor will he ever understand the need to look '_good_'.

Frowning when Loki fails to make an appearance after a minute, he tries again, louder this time, "Brother? Are you well?"

Still nothing.

Louder still.

"Loki, are you there?"

After another answer of silence, Thor's worry escalates. Loki would never take such a long time, no matter how haggard his appearance is. He seriously contemplates the chances of him succeeding if he strikes the closed doors with Mjölnir which is dangling at his side from his belt, ready to be used. He grasps the handle, but lets his arms fall when he realizes that maybe waking up all of Asgard at such an ungodly hour of the night would be a bad idea.

Seeing no other option, Thor knocks again.

"Brother?"

This time, he presses his ear against the ornate doors, his breath stuck in his throat as if the smallest sounds would drown out any signs of life behind the barricade between him and Loki. Thor might not be as smart as his brother, but he is by no means a complete idiot. He knows when something is not right, when what appears to be normal is actually the very opposite. He is not blind, he hasn't been living with Loki for so long just to have the subtle clues and gestures fly over his head. No, Thor can almost _feel _the shift in the air, the way the sky darkens.

He raises his hand to bash against the door, and if they still do not open, he will use Mjölnir to pry the doors open, protective wards or no.

What he doesn't expect is for Loki to finally pull the door fully open.

His fist doesn't have time to avert its course and before both of them can process the situation, Loki's staggering back into his room, spindly fingers cradling his nose.

"Loki!" Thor exclaims in surprise, rushing to his brother's side, "Forgive me, I had not meant to-"

"Thor. Thor! _Thor_, please! Not so loud," Loki hisses venomously, green eyes bright and all too vivid. Thor apologizes once more, quieter this time, knowing that the irritated look usually means Loki is suffering from a headache. Usually he would step away slowly, knowing better than to disturb the younger when he is in such a state. It usually ends very well for Loki and not so well for Thor.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

_'Liar,_' Thor think as he scans his brother's face, taking in the dark angry rings under his eyes, the sickly tone the skin holds that looks almost ashen and gray in the moonlight and the inky tendrils of hair, laying haphazardly over Loki's forehead.

A frown crosses Thor's lips as he ushers Loki onto his bed despite the younger's vehement protests and claims of being perfectly fine. His frown deepens, the skin at the edges of his mouth creasing. Loki's arms have always been thin and lean, but they have never been so deprived of fat or muscle that he can feel the bones beneath. Something is amiss and he will not let his brother's honeyed words and sharp tongue change that.

"You have not been sleeping," the Thunderer whispers, unnaturally soft and gentle. Loki tenses in his arms and Thor feels his worry escalate. An expert at reading gestures he is not, but even he sees how uncomfortable Loki is. His brother is hiding something, that much is certain and while it doesn't surprise him, he still has the right to be concerned, even if there is a smidgen of anger tossed in the mix at the prospect of Loki having to feel as if he has to keep certain things from his own brother. Whatever it is, Thor is eager to find out. He doesn't take too well to secrets, especially those that leave his collected brother quivering and trembling from the force of keeping them, well, _secrets_.

"A minor sacrifice."

"To what?" and it's hear that Thor nearly roars. He has no patience for the games Loki is all too willing to play if it means that no one will bother him.

Loki's lips twitch, elegantly curving into a tired smirk, "I have been participating in an...experiment of sorts. It's in the delicate stages at the moment and you are quite fortunate that you had chosen to barge in when the experiment was in no immediate danger of being ruined."

The inflection in his brother's voice is off and it does not escape Thor's notice.

"And are you willing to tell me the details of this _'experiment'_, you say?" Hands curl into tight fists and his mouth is a hard, grim line. He already knows the answer.

"No."

Thor makes a noise, a cross between a grunt and a sigh. Honestly, he can only endure Loki's games for so long. It always comes to a point where his brother is talking circles around him, prodding him to frustration or holding his hand as they walk completely off course of the original point of the conversation.

"Why not?"

"It is a secret," Loki shrugs, closing his eyes and bowing his head, hiding the purple bags and the hollow cheeks from Thor's sight. There is a flash of anger that overtakes his vision, blotting out Loki, the bed and his brother's room with red. Anger has always been a close friend of his, staying in his stomach like a lump of useless coal until something ignites it and sparks begin to fly. It's boiling and ever present, every motion sending sensations through his blood. The burn of it is familiar enough to appear comforting, but intense enough to be terrifying.

"I do not like secrets." His arms cross over his chest and he steels his expression, the sweet siren song of anger almost too much fro him to ignore.

"I know," Loki breathes, giving him a half-smile that gives him a tired and worn look on his face. His brother is only a few centuries younger than him, nowhere near old enough to hold those glints of age inside his eyes. This man in front of him does not have any likeness to the mischievous boy Thor had grown up with.

"Will you sleep, at least?"

"I give no promises."

The frown on his face is more than enough for Loki to hand his head, a decidedly hangdog expression adorning his taut features. Thor sighs and tips Loki's head upwards with a thick digit beneath the other's chin. Green meets blue and Thor can hear the way Loki's breath starts to grow shorter, the way Loki stares at him with anxiety-ridden orbs almost as if his own brother was afraid of him.

How ridiculous.

Thor tries to smile - but he knows it comes off more as a grimace than anything else - and covers Loki's smaller hands with his own, promptly engulfing the Trickster's palms and fingers.

"At least let your body receive the proper sustenance."

With that, he turned on his heel and left his brother to his thoughts. If he had stayed longer, he would have seen the way Loki examined the apple in his hands, scrutinizing the glossy sides and thin, weak stem. If he had stayed longer, Thor would have seen Loki plaster a genuine, authentic smile on his face. If Thor had stayed longer, he would have heard the barely audible laugh ring through the air, bouncing off the walls in the silence of the night.

If he had, he would have heard two words being whispered, the sounds and vowels trailing after his retreating form before dissolving, becoming lost and led astray before they can reach his ears.

* * *

Loki gazes blankly at the stone wall in front of him, unconsciously shivering when he finds the shade of dark grey too close to murky blue ice he touched on Jotunheim before they were dyed scarlet.

_So cold, so very cold..._

For the rest of the night and the better part of the morning, he stays slumped over with his knees drawn up to his chest and his head buried into his arms for hours, never quite noticing the golden light when it trickles into his room, bathing his bed in honey. He is too far gone, too far deep in the recesses of his mind to take heed of the outside world. The corner isn't a place for such trivial matters.

The corner is for much simpler, but invaluable purposes.

He can think in his corner, sort out his thoughts and let the pain ebb and flow away. He can recuperate and reconstruct his facade of calmness and indifference piece by piece and make it seem as if nothing happened. He can compartmentalize his already fragile sense of being and sanity, conscientiously building his mental shields back up to protect himself as well as others. In the corner, he can recover and be _okay._

In the corner, he is safe.

He sighs, finally feeling the almost lazy tugs of sleep as it tries to drag him down into darkness. He is safe, he is _safe_. He can sleep, there are no monsters - with the exception of one - around him and he is safe. He can close his eyes and succumb to his body's needs and needn't worry about never waking up.

He is home, he is protected, he is safe...

_Safe..._

His eyes fall to the apple in his hands, still fresh as it was when it was placed there hours ago. Thor isn't what most people would describe as perceptive or generally observant at all, but Thor has a good heart and for many, Loki included, that is enough.

Loki brings the fruit to his lips, not quite biting, but just letting his teeth rest on the red peel, the slightest pressure applied to make small indentations and no tears or rips. It's been a while since he's last eaten and his stomach agrees.

Loki closes his eyes and eats.

* * *

It's a little shorter than usual (up until here, the chapters have been slowly growing in length), but I liked where it ended so I'm keeping it this way. And yes, this version is quite different from the original because editing. And stuff...Yeah.

Yay! We finally got Thor into the chapters! Hope I didn't completely mess up his character...

I noticed that in the reviews, there was some Odin-bashing. Yes, Odin is a _huge_ jerk in this story, but only so because the only type of person who would make his own son his scourge is a jerk. I actually like Odin, but it's all too easy to instill his '_A+ parenting'_ into _everything_. Haha, that aside, Odin will continue to become jerkier and jerkier by the chapters.

Just some news, I probably won't be updating in a while. School is starting soon and it's usually hectic and I won't always have the time to write once class is in session. I'll try to squeeze in chapter5 before school, but who knows what will happen?

Happy reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel. Or most of the lines below. A lot of them are movie lines.

This is an answer to a prompt on Norsekink and a cannon!AU:

_"Scourge; 1. a whip or lash, especially for the infliction of punishment and torture. 2. a person or thing that applies or administers punishment or severe criticism. 3. a cause or affliction or calamity (disease and famine are scourges of humanity)_

_Loki is the Scourge of Odin and the most powerful sorcerer in the Nine Realms. When someone truly angers him, Odin sends Loki to met out punishment. The position has given Loki great power, but he hates it. It isn't the magic he dreamed of performing for Asgard when he started learning spells. Odin also commanded him to secrecy (a misguided attempt to prevent Loki being feared by the Asgardians)._

_Loki can create plagues that wipe out entire populations, famines that starve entire planets, extinctions or overpopulations (locusts ect) that devastate entire ecosystems, and calamity's that change the very shape of the land (wars and natural disasters). Odin keeps the Nine Realms in check with the threat of these._

_When Loki called himself a "monster" he really meant it - the revelation of his Jotun heritage enough to finally push him to say what he's thought of himself and the horrible things he's committed across the Nine Realms in Odin's name. It's also why he tried to destroy Jotunheim, along with destroying a part of himself he hated he was acting out a punishment he truly thought would please Odin._

_When Odin has need of his services, he goes to Midgard to give Loki orders - in front of the Avengers. Thor is horrified to learn Loki is the Scourge all in the Nine Realms live in terror of._

* * *

"You're going through an awful lot of trouble Asgardian," one of the Jotunns remarks as Loki readies to pull them through a pathway. "All for a bit of mischief."

"No," Loki says, shaking his head as he augments his magic with a Norn stone, "Mischief is a small thing, a toy I've well used and discarded. This isn't mischief." A smile splits his face, "This is mayhem. Just watch." *

* * *

_It starts with lies._

* * *

To Asgard's civilian population, he is the very entity of chaos, of evil, of everything bad in the universe. He is the scar on the otherwise flawless skin, the blemish, the stain on a pure white sheet of linin. No one can make heads or tails of the dark prince who likened to a shadow amongst pillars of light.

He is nothing but trouble to them and maybe they are right in that perspective. He plays pranks, causes mischief and whenever his mouth opens, only a select few can determine where the truth ended and the lies began. He is dishonest, untrustworthy and quite frankly, not worth the effort. But the looks of suspicion, disappointment and over-all contempt that are cast in his direction when they think he is not paying attention do hurt sometimes. He has feelings, he has a heart - though now this is becoming debatable - and his is fully capable of being wounded mentally as hard as it may seem to believe.

It does - however he may deny it - trouble him deeply to know exactly what the general populace thinks of him and he can't help but feel angry and spiteful towards them for their opinions. It does cross his mind that treating hate with more hate would only lead to tenser relations later on in his years, but he has long learned the art of pushing things to the back of his mind.

Prioritizing.

He always does what is best for Asgard - that is what his life has become. He is no weapon, no sword or hammer. He is the Allfather's ultimate bodyguard - a _shield_. Loki will always protect Father because Father gives him power, purpose, _everything_. Father, above all, trusts him to keep him safe. If there are any threats, Loki is sent to deal with them, and deal with them Loki does.

So Loki grows and Loki learns, continuing to slip beneath their gazes as he works behind the scenes to do his father's will as the Scourge.

* * *

_It ends with hate._

* * *

For a time, his life is perfect. He has a father who trusts, a mother who loves and a brother who cares. For a time, Loki is happy.

Then everything changes when he catches wind of Thor's upcoming coronation. Nothing is official, not yet, but the townspeople have already begun to chatter wildly with each other. Loki watches, cloaked in the shadows that have become like a second skin, his blank, green-eyed gaze staring at the masses of people in the marketplace. He likes to come here every once in a while to catch up on the daily happenings of the town.

Loki frowns, he has already accepted that as the second born, he will never be king. Even if he does, Asgard, he knows, will not be too pleased with him sitting on the throne as their ruler and leader. The God of Lies is a tittle he is not proud of, but he has earned it. He can feel their eyes boring into his back every time he walks past them, all limbs and grace, but no hint of good intentions.

The role of king is not for him; Father had beaten that into him long ago when he was proclaimed as his Scourge. The throne has never been an object of desire or envy to Loki. To be king, one needs to be loved by the people and he holds no interest in that, making them hate him is far easier. Then there is the plight of keeping up a respectable image as king, the politics and fake smiles that sent shivers of anger down his spine because if there is one thing he hated more, it is the expectation that he must be _perfect_ in every sense of the word.

But Loki is not perfect, he is the _imperfection._

Loki contemplates the merits of telling Father his findings, but he discards the notion with a bitter flurry. For all the trust Odin places in him, he places the same amount, but _ten_ fold, in Thor. Father will not take too kindly to him pointing out that not only is his judgment skewed, but also that Thor is not as golden as most people would think. '_No_', Loki thinks, '_Father will not be pleased._'

He loves his brother; there is no doubt that lingers in his mind. He may be envious and hateful at times, but there is still love lying at the bottom of his carcass of a heart. Thor will be a _great_ king; he already has a heart of one already. Loki can see his brother leading Asgard into prosperity, but that is but a dream of the future.

Thor is not ready to be king. Not yet.

Yggdrasil will burn before he lets Thor take the throne and consequently plunge his home into chaos and catastrophe.

* * *

_It starts with hate._

* * *

He can hear Thor coming far before he sees him.

They're underneath the throne room, a hall mostly left empty as servants scurry about, trying to finish last minute preparations. Most of Asgard has been waiting for this day - Thor's coronation, the day where the beloved heir becomes king. Loki closes his eyes, banishing the images of hanging banners and the large cauldron of fire, casting a warm glow in the lily lit room.

He does not feel its warmth.

The giant doors at the end open and he can hear Thor thunder through them, throwing something into the fire and in response, the flames leap up, crackling loudly as the blaze intensifies before dying down. Green eyes slide open.

"Another!"

_'Thor, you horrible, loud, lovable fool.'_

Loki feels something akin to guilt bubble in his stomach, its sharp claws digging into his heart.

Thor approaches his hiding spot and Loki sports a smile, one filled with mischief and promises of chaos. But still, the edges are soft and dulled. He walks around the banner obscuring him and stands alongside his brother, both of them dressed in full regalia. It's been years since they've last been able to have a quiet moment like this, just them and only them. Not Loki, the Trickster, or Thor, the Thunderer. Just merely Thor and Loki.

"I've looked forward to this day as long as you have. You're my brother and my friend. Sometimes I am envious, but never doubt that I love you," Loki says, completely sincere with no trace of deception or lies.

It's an apology.

* * *

_It ends with blood._

* * *

Loki feels the cold winds, unforgiving and harsh against his ears as they pepper his hair with white powder. His leather coat is black as night and a clear contrast to the snow under his boots. He remembers a white cloak, wrapped around him, giving him warmth and comfort even though the cold does not faze him, does not hurt him though he knows it's there.

He remembers _silence_.

"We shouldn't be here," Hogun the Grim says.

The guard is taking too long; they never should have reached Jotunheim.

The Warrior's Three and the Lady Sif all unsheathe their weapons, expressions apprehensive and tense. None of them have been to the home of the Frost Giants before; to them it is uncharted area. A territory where the enemy has all the advantages and they have none. It is not like one of their quests where they venture into unexplored land that's more often than not near the outskirts, they're venturing straight into the heart of a realm. Their fear gives Loki more cause for concern. While he can care less for them, they are Thor's friends and Thor will be devastated if they perish.

Thor surveys the land. "Too late now."

Loki sucks in a breath and follows after his brother, all too aware of the eyes following them. Red on red. Terrible. Ugly.

_The children will never wake up again. Their eyes will never open. Their cries will never be heard. Killed by an assassin, disappearing into the night with trails of mist and the scent of ozone the only tracks they leave behind._

He shakes his head.

All Loki can do now is stall and hope for the best.

* * *

_It starts with blood._

* * *

Thor comes blundering into a wrecked plaza just outside of Laufey's crumbling palace, sill paying no mind to the shifting shadows all around them. The six Asgardians are surrounded and Loki feels a lump of ice form in his stomach. They might not come out alive.

"The House of Odin is full of traitors," Laufey rumbles, voice sounding like the cracking veins of ice in between rocks and the roots of trees. His eyes bore into Loki's own and Loki remembers a temple of sorts. He almost feels feather-light pelts surrounding his body, protecting him against the shrieking winds and gales. There is a face of blue in his memories and then it is gone, abandoning him. He remembers crying.

"Do not dishonour my father's name with your lies!" Thor roars, teeth clenched and knuckles white.

Laufey stands to his full height, imposing and intimidating. Every bit the king he is. He looks down on Thor and scoffs softly and lowly, "Your father is a murderer and a thief. He stole what was ours, left our world in ruins. We have the right to reclaim the Casket."

The conversation tumbles out of control and Loki believes that Thor has had his fun. He steps behind him, leaning in close to whisper, "Thor, stop and _think_. Look around you, we're outnumbered."

"Know you're place brother."

Loki recoils as if hit.

'_Thor please, listen to me just this once.'_

Laufey continues speaking and then he offers to let them go. Loki takes the chance and runs with it, speaking with Thor in low volumes before taking the offer in place of him. His brother stares at Loki with an expression of betrayal and surprise. His heart breaks, but he deserves it. He has coordinated all this and now it is time for everything to end.

"Run back home, little princess."

_'So close.'_

"Damn."

* * *

_It ends with death._

* * *

Odin finally comes and they are saved.

But Father is angry, so outright furious and Loki can only watch as the golden son and the golden father scream and fight at each other. _Fools_, the both of them. Loki does not dare to say anything out loud. He stares at his hand instead.

_Blue. Blue. Blue the colour of sapphires. Beautiful, intricate, different. Burn it._

"And you are an old man and a fool!" Loki's head snaps up and he can feel the world slow, the last of Thor's words echoing in Heimdall's Observatory. Asgard seems to grow quiet and Loki can hear violins playing. Thor's face contorts into one of surprise, as if he doesn't believe that those words had escaped him.

Sometimes when angry, people say and do things they don't always mean.

The words, however, have been said and no one can erase the mistakes of the past.

Odin levels Thor with a calm gaze and something dangerous moves behind his blue eye. Loki holds his breath.

"Yes. I was a fool. To think you were ready." He recognizes the tone. The fake calm, the sadistic and ruthless undertones. He knows this anger. This rage.

Odin's wrath.

"Father..." Loki tries but Father only screams at him, directing the first blow of fury at him instead of Thor. The seal has been broken. Lightning flashes between them and Odin tears away Thor's armour. He starts with the metal plating on his arms and then the discs on his chest. Loki begins to step forward; everything he has meticulously planned is coming apart at the seams. This is not supposed to happen.

But he is too late.

"In the name of my father and of his father before. I cast you out!"

And Thor is gone.

* * *

_It starts with death._

* * *

Hours pass and Loki can stop himself no longer. He travels to the treasure vault, the place where Odin stashes all the relics he had collected on his campaigns as a young man. The relics of the past. His eyes catch the empty pedestal where Mjölnir once resided before Odin gave it to his firstborn son.

Thor...

Loki stills and he finds himself near the closest he can get to Jotunheim. His breath falters and he doesn't want to touch it - _blue skin, red eyes, he's_ one _of them_ - but he has to. He has to know. Concrete evidence.

His shoulders shake while his body remains tense, physically locking up. It's an automatic reaction. Loki closes his eyes and takes a deep gulp of air, hands coming to rest on the handles smooth, grey of the Casket of Ancient Winters.

A hand composed of pure magic slides up his arms, under his sleeves and armour, dancing across his skin, leaving a new set of flesh in its wake. The touch is cold, but he feels no pain. Whispers enter his ears and images flash behind his closed eyelids - _abandoned. Crying. Papa, don't leave me_ - as the voices reach a crescendo. Crystals of ice form inside his heard and Loki opens his eyes, the world dimmed and darker than it used to be. The Casket hums.

"Am I cursed?"

Odin sighs, "No."

"What am I?" Loki asks, voice hoarse even though he hasn't screamed. He drops the Casket and the whispers - _Monster. Monster. Monster! Kin-slayer. Beast! Abomination! -_ retreat. The blue retreats. The emotions of panic and distraught rush out his body and he's left with his defenses, all of them, piled on top of each other. Every crack is sealed, every crevice blocked. Loki open eyes and doesn't dare to look at his hands.

The ice remains.

"You're my son."

He grits his teeth and turns around, "What more than that?"

* * *

_It ends with life._

* * *

Loki listens as Odin tells his story, his father - _no, not Father. Papa,_ Papa! _Where are you? I'm cold, Papa. It's so cold -_ a frenzied hand at his side trembling wildly. He looks at the Allfather's form, the one he vowed to protect weary and burdened. The Odinsleep. Loki ignores the call of the Casket. The ice in his veins.

"Laufey's son?" Loki repeats, eyes wide with horror. Green - _red on red - _ eyes, bright and colourful now blank and unseeing.

"Yes."

His world cracks.

Suddenly, everything is too hot. Hot. Hot. Hot. He hisses and scowls. Answers. He wants answers. Odin gives him none, skirting around the subject. Loki wants to know why - _the gears of the universe are the _what_ and _how._ It is the why_ _that turns them.** Remember this, my son, that everything your father does, he does for a purpose -_ Odin took him, why he was appointed as his Scourge. Why he is so different - _Jotunn monster, wearing the skin and flesh of an Aesir -_ from everyone else.

Why Odin always favoured Thor more.

Why no one loves him.

"_Tell me!"_

Because this is why. Loki never had a chance. Everything he thought he knew is all a lie - _the Liar lied -_ and now it all makes sense. Thor, the golden son. Loki, the dark prince. Odin and Frigga, Allfather and Allmother. Thor, the Mighty Thor. Loki, the Scourge.

A - _I cast you out!_ - monster.

Jotunns - You_ are Jotunn -_ are monsters. Frost Giants. Creatures. Beasts.

Loki.

_Monster_.

Because he is a monster, he is a _monster_.

This is what he has been living as all this time.

Odin falls and Loki realizes that Father is hurt. Father is...

* * *

_It starts with life._

* * *

"My king," Frigga addresses him with a respectful nod, full of support and encouragement. Loki knows she is breaking inside. Her eldest banished, her husband catatonic and her youngest son on the verge of a mental breakdown from all the emotional turmoil and stress. She stands from her place at Odin's bedside and cradles his cheek with a comforting hand.

The spear in his hands in heavy and unfamiliar.

"I trust in you." But Loki doesn't. No, Loki's shaking like a leave caught in a hurricane. Too much. Too much. He needs time, but Frigga is pushing him. Wants to make Mother - _yes, always Mother. Frigga is always Mother -_ proud of him. He wants to correct his wrongs.

Too much.

Redemption is a lie. Can't erase his sins. Can't reverse his choices.

_Too much. Too much. Too much._

"Loki," and the way she says his name evokes a storm of emotions in him. So much love and trust in her voice, it makes Loki's heart of ice break. He wants to cry, but the guards are watching. Frigga is watching. Odin is watching. Everyone is watching.

He must be perfect. Always perfect. The perfect -_ imperfection. Scum. Weasel. Stain _- son of the perfect family in the perfect realm. Perfect. Perfect. _Perfect_.

Loki pushes his emotions away and focuses. The world rights itself and he can see Frigga's smile in crisp, clear vision. He nods and she kisses him on the forehead.

"I won't fail. I promise."

"I know."

He can _fix_ things.

He will fix everything. Even himself.

* * *

_It ends with love._

* * *

Loki visits Thor after he dispatches his - _Thor's. Never his._ - friends. He needs to make sure that Thor will not come in and ruin things. Thor can only return if he redeems himself. The trickster has seen the way the eldest has interacted with the Midgardian girl, the girl has an effect on him. A calming effect. Loki feels betrayed.

Changing for a mortal, but not for his own bro-

No. Not brother.

"Father is dead."

Thor's head snaps up and Loki can see the thousands of questions running through his head. Those electric azure eyes stare at him, stunned. But Loki remains resolute. He has perfected his art. He is a professional. So he stares on with soulless green eyes.

Bit by bit, he breaks Thor's spirit. Like his own soul - _he has no soul -_ was broken. Bit by bit, they both crumble until there is nothing left.

"Good-bye."

He feels no satisfaction. He feels no pain. He feels nothing but a cold, empty numbness.

Loki leaves.

* * *

_It starts with love._

* * *

The Destroyer lands on Midgard and Loki watches it all from the throne.

He watches as Heimdall, Frandral, Hogun, Volstagg and Sif all deliberately disobey his orders. The magic song of Bifrost can be heard from realms over, of course Loki would know of its activation. Something tells Loki that Heimdall had done it to smite him. He and the Gatekeeper never got along.

Something inside of him breaks further as Thor begins to realize Loki's lie – _and in return, the Lied lied back -_ his face giving away all his thoughts. Thor always did have a problem of wearing his heart on his sleeve. He remains steadfast as the Destroyer finally makes its appearance. The piece of metal that Loki controls. The piece of metal that will destroy everything.

It fires its beam of energy, vaporizing anything unfortunate enough to stand in its way. He who has learned evil shall only be able to do evil.

Even now, he can hear the chants of absolute chaos. It sends tingles down his spine and arms. It is present always. With every shift of his body, his blood boils, and with every pull of magic, the hairs on his skin rise. It doesn't control him, no, he is the one in control. _Always_. Loki has everything - _not himself -_ under control.

He won't break.

It his choice.

Thor walks up to the Destroyer. All mortal and unarmed. A changed man. The walk is not arrogant or flashy, only humble and noble. It is the walk of a man with compassion. A man who has found something worth sacrificing for. Who is not afraid to make his own purpose. A man...who is Asgardian. Loki watches.

"Brother," he starts and Loki schools his face even though there is no one watching, "whatever I have done to wrong you, whatever I have done to lead you to do this, I am truly sorry_._ But these people are innocent. Taking their lives will gain you _nothing._ So take mine and end this."

Loki freezes. Who is this man? Who is this man that has taken the appearance of his bro -his frie - his...Thor? Who is this? His hands shake and tap against the arm rests. The throne room is empty, save for a few guards, and it is only him making the sound. The tapping grows louder. No. Thor will not come out of this the better man! Thor will not come out of this the hero! But - _But never doubt that I love you -_ every story needs a hero.

Thor has changed.

Loki's arm moves. Loki has changed - _he who has Jotunn blood is Jotunn and he who is Jotunn is a monster - _ also.

He watches as Thor flies. As Thor falls.

'_Rise up, Thor.'_

And Thor rises.

Loki screeches.

* * *

_It ends with hurt._

* * *

Another deal with the Jotunns was made, this time with the king - _Papa - _himself, Laufey. He brings them to Asgard, past Heimdall's frozen body, and he cloaks them with the same invisibility charm he used so long ago. The Frost Giants burst into the throne room first and though Mother is every bit the warrior Odin is, the combined fatigue and worry have weakened her. She is knocked unconscious, spiraling to the floor in an ungraceful heap. Loki's heart twists in pain.

Laufey approaches the bed containing Odin, face still riddled with wrinkles and lines with a phantom tear track down the side of his face. The Frost King laughs and turns his back against Loki.

Bad decision.

He expels a mist from his sleeves, the smoke entering the two Jotunns' nostrils, filling their lungs with a poisonous gas. They pass quietly and Loki makes a gesture with his hands, the mist lifting and disappearing from sight. His eyes are hard as emeralds, still blank like glass.

"You death, came by the hand of Laufey."

Loki waits until Laufey is completely occupied, letting the Jotunn gloat before he sends a beam of magic to his side. Laufey tumbles to the floor and lifts his head to stare at his attacker.

"And your death came by the son of Odin."

He is met with another blast that incinerates him. Loki feels no remorse. Laufey is not _'Papa_' any longer. Laufey lost that title the second he abandoned him in the temple, leaving him to die and face the winter conditions himself.

His father is still Odin and he will prove it. For trying to assassinate Odin Allfather, he, as the Scourge of Odin, will destroy Jotunheim as punishment.

It is his father's will.

* * *

_It starts with hurt._

* * *

A discord of harmonies rip through the air and Loki almost raises his hands as the sweet song of Bifrost floods his ears, his senses, his very being and soul. A tree of ice sprouts from the base, its roots and branches spreading out as its trunk encases Gungnir and the dais. Loki's eyes slip closed, his mind searching for Jotunheim.

He aims and fires.

His ear listens closely as the Bifrost slices through the empty space with unnerving ease. He hears it strike down on the cold, ice, crushing under the weight of all the pure energy and magic the Bifrost is expending. The Jotunns scream and shriek in terror as the white-hot beam consumes everything in its path. Their legs allow their strides to be long and quick.

The Bifrost is faster.

"You can't stop it. The Bifrost will build until it rips Jotunheim apart."

Thor steps forward, looking at him with a fear that makes Loki feel almost giddy. "Why have you done this?"

Loki faces Thor, eyes like steel and merciless. He doesn't bother to hide his emotions, his pain and anger. His lips curl into an ugly sneer. "To prove to Father that I am a worthy son. When he wakes, I will have saved his life, I will have destroyed that race of monsters, and I will be true heir to the throne!"

Loki is falling apart, but he hasn't failed. Not yet.

He is worthy. He is strong. Loki Odinson the Scourge the Nine Realms live in fear of is _strong!_ And he will not be bested by this pitiful fool!

"You can't kill an entire race!" The irony of the phrase strikes deep into the remnants of Loki's heart. He lets out a scratchy, amused huff of disbelief.

"Why not?" He begins to scale down the stairs, a new emotion swimming inside his poison green eyes, "And what is this new found love for the Frost Giants? You, who could have killed them all with your bear hands."

"I've changed," Thor says, standing tall like a hero on a field, ready to fight in the war. He seems reluctant to fight, but Loki will not let Thor ruin his fun. His plans and games. Not this time. No, Loki will come out victorious this time. Loki is worthy. Loki is strong.

"So have I."

He swings Gungnir, hitting his not-brother on the side of his face.

"Now fight me." Loki hits Thor again in the split second it takes for the phrase to sink in, sending the Mighty Thor crashing to the ground. Loki is stronger.

"I never wanted the throne!" The words tear themselves out of his throat as if they were barbed wire being pulled out instead. He can taste blood on his tongue. He can feel blood on his hands, his body , all over him, running down his face, dripping to the floor as his victims' souls surround him as an eternal reminder of what he has done and what he can do. "I only ever wanted to be your equal!"

He doesn't want this.

Thor has always been better. Stronger. Faster. More popular. Father's favourite. Asgard's favourite. Mother's favourite. _Loki's _favourite.

But Loki is sick of the darkness. This slimy, inky substance that clings to his skin, wrapping around his wrists and ankles to prevent escape. He wants to see light and he will not have Thor block it again.

He is strong.

"I will not fight you brother!" Thor screams, full of pain and confusion. Who is this monster that he replaced his brother?

That monster is Loki.

"I am not your brother," he shouts, whole body quaking wildly, green eyes open and vulnerable. He's cracking. He's breaking. But Loki does not break.

"Loki, this is madness..."

But he may bend.

"Is it madness? Is it? _Is it_?"

This is not madness.

This...This is _mayhem_.

* * *

_It ends broken._

* * *

Thor strikes the bridge one last time and Loki tries in vain to stop him. The magic glass fractures and break before shattering brilliantly, sending them flying upwards in a torrent as all the magic energy in the bridge releases into space.

They both fall and Loki can see Thor's horrified face as he tries to grab onto his little brother who is falling further away.

Someone catches Thor's foot and Thor grabs hold of Gungnir the same time Loki reaches for the other end.

Odin has awoken.

* * *

_It starts broken._

* * *

He's weightless as he floats over the edge of the Bifrost, fingers curled tightly around the rod of the spear. His heartbeat is loud in his ears, drowning out everything else but the whip-crack voices that have haunted him all this time. Memories, recollections, his life - everything flashes before his eyes.

Two green eyes stare at one blue.

"I could have done it Father! I could have done it!" he hates how his voice cracks at the end, how it raises an octave, how it shows how desperate he is for any sign of approval. For any sign of confirmation that he is a worthy son. That all his years in service as Odin's Scourge has meant something. That he is still welcome. That he still has a home.

He is still part of the family. Everything he has orchestrated, manipulated, and committed has always been for Odin and for Asgard. He wants to be worthy of the Eternal Realm and his family more than anything. Loki wants to know that despite all his sins and atrocities, that a monster like him can still have a home.

"No, Loki."

Two words and it ends.

Father is disappointed.

Loki has failed.

The monster must die.

"_Loki, no!"_

* * *

_It ends up lost._

* * *

For his story to end, the monster must be slain.

Loki shuts down and lets go.

* * *

* Not a line from the movie, but a line from the comics. Said by Loki. Don't know the issue.

** ^ What it says above.

My, I'm glad that monster of a chapter is out of the way. I hope it's okay? Haha, yeah. I did manage to crank out a chapter before school starts! And hopefully its long enough to make up for my silence over the next few weeks.

Happy reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own it, sadly enough, and that sucks because well...it sucks.

This is an answer to a prompt on Norsekink and a cannon!AU:

_"Scourge; 1. a whip or lash, especially for the infliction of punishment and torture. 2. a person or thing that applies or administers punishment or severe criticism. 3. a cause or affliction or calamity (disease and famine are scourges of humanity)_

_Loki is the Scourge of Odin and the most powerful sorcerer in the Nine Realms. When someone truly angers him, Odin sends Loki to met out punishment. The position has given Loki great power, but he hates it. It isn't the magic he dreamed of performing for Asgard when he started learning spells. Odin also commanded him to secrecy (a misguided attempt to prevent Loki being feared by the Asgardians)._

_Loki can create plagues that wipe out entire populations, famines that starve entire planets, extinctions or overpopulations (locusts ect) that devastate entire ecosystems, and calamity's that change the very shape of the land (wars and natural disasters). Odin keeps the Nine Realms in check with the threat of these._

_When Loki called himself a "monster" he really meant it - the revelation of his Jotun heritage enough to finally push him to say what he's thought of himself and the horrible things he's committed across the Nine Realms in Odin's name. It's also why he tried to destroy Jotunheim, along with destroying a part of himself he hated he was acting out a punishment he truly thought would please Odin._

_When Odin has need of his services, he goes to Midgard to give Loki orders - in front of the Avengers. Thor is horrified to learn Loki is the Scourge all in the Nine Realms live in terror of._

* * *

He can't control the way he falls, the way he lands, or the way the Void tears holes into his skin as it digs for his magic, sucking it out of him. There is no mercy to be had and Loki can do naught but burn.

The pain burns through him like a fire would a dry plain of grass. It boils his blood and already damaged skin, sending small fires down the length of his body. His bones are cracked and fractured. His armour is useless. The leather torn, the gold ornaments dented and dulled. Nothing can protect him.

The touches of the Void are soft and gentle despite the bonfires they leave in their wake. Its fingers trail across his skin, calling for the magic trapped beneath his pores. An inferno burns, plowing through his bloodstream without any regard, without any remorse or guilt. It is curious.

Every breath is a struggle - he _needs_ air.

The Void continues to prod him, the traces of whispers floating into his ears, but nothing registers. The Void is a sentient being and Loki can only scream as it strokes his magic, coaxing it through the veins in his body. The scent of ozone fills his nostrils, fills his lunges - he chokes and sputters.

The mage can only do so much as the Void pulls his magic from within. It feels nothing as its victim screams himself hoarse. Yet Loki still opens his mouth, but he has no voice. Not anymore. Did he ever have a voice? The Void remains relentless.

Knives begin to tear into his skin where there were feather-light touches before. They dig deep and twist, growing more adventurous with each drop of blood that beads off of him. Sharp, metallic edges carve valleys into his stomach, his arms - every inch of living flesh they can find. He feels them leave for a time, and he can only let the breath he hadn't known he was holding before they return.

Loki writhes away from its touch, the pain already becoming unbearable and stressing his limits. Reserves depleted and already on the last few drops of magic that still blessedly swirls around in his core, he cannot spare anything to heal his broken and damaged body. Any flesh that has been torn into with imaginary knives, any patches of black lifelessness cannot be healed or repaired. He simply has not the energy.

* * *

Loki doesn't like sleep. It tears him away from work, forcing his body to shut down and recuperate after a day-long marathon of research and experiments. He has too much to do, too much to finish and he can't set about completing his missions if he needs to drop dead every time his body decides when enough is enough.

Honestly, the restless nights spent nitpicking and cleaning are better than nights spent lost within his own mind with only his thoughts to keep him company. Loki thinks a lot and the gears of his mind never cease to turn.

His mind is a traitorous thing, but Loki has learned to keep his thoughts separate from his life. At least until his eyelids close and the world falls silent.

For now, all Loki has is his mind.

* * *

When his thoughts run out, when the gears in his mind stop turning, when the chemicals stop bubbling, there is nothing Loki can do to stop the memories.

* * *

_Cold..._

He is freezing. Loki curled in on himself, teeth chattering and limbs heavy with lead. Everything hurt. It is so cold. His breath caught in his throat and tremours ran through his body - he can't stop shaking. Suddenly he is a child, small and oh-so fearful of the world. Lost in the shadow of his big brother, his better brother, the _golden_ brother.

The insufferable black turns midnight blue and Loki can hear the soft breaths of a creature. The inhales and the exhales. Shaky but strong.

Loki squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his teeth to brave the unsettling chill inside his bones. He can feel the knots inside his body undoing themselves, little locks unlatching and something slimy being lifted from his skin. He does not dare look.

Instead, he grasps at his mind, searching for an anchor of sorts to ground him in this never-ending abyss.

Mother's touch comes to mind. He remembers her soft fingers running through the tangles in his hair, smoothing out the charcoal strands gently with infinite care. How her chest rose and fell behind him as he sat in her lap, back turned towards her, eyes closed and body instinctively lingering into her protecting embrace. In the light of Asgard's sun, he would catch the silver scissors in her hands glinting menacingly, yet in Mother's hand, the image was gentle.

When she cut the first lock off, he would barely feel it leaving the rest of his hair. Mother's hands were always steady as she trimmed away the dead ends, her movements slow and confident, never faltering as the '_snips_'of the scissors rang in the relative stillness of her and Odin's chambers. She would always comb his hair thoroughly afterwards, so much in fact that his hair become silken and impossibly fine.

Then her lips would press against the top of his head and she would inhale the scents of the oils she lathered into his hair to slick it back.

Her arms would wrap around him and if he asked, _"Do you love me?"_ her answer would always be the same, _"Of course."_

He recalls the warmth of her hands, chasing away the alien blue.

But they are but memories and even Frigga has abandoned him.

* * *

Why didn't they tell him? Didn't they trust him? Hadn't he proved himself capable when he wiped out all those innocents with the magic that swirled _inside_ him?!

Wasn't he worthy? Wasn't he?

The sharp curves of his nails dig through the fabric of his armour, pressing into his skin to the point of pain, but of course, it's not enough. Their shrieks rush past him in the wind and he can't drown them out. They whistle through his ears, coldly hissing like a snake hanging above him, waiting to strike, waiting to kill.

He cannot scream.

* * *

There is still so much hate inside him. So much loathe for himself. The only thing that remains constant is the cotton in his throat that he thinks might be guilt.

He could have done it. He could have proved himself to be worthy, could have saved them all.

If only they had let him.

* * *

It is a lie.

He's a monster.

Brought up to believe he could be something great, something more than just the monster under the bed. Given a position of power, the opportunity to serve Odin Allfather as his personal Scourge and trained to cast spells to cause plagues, famines, and other sources of calamity that would no doubt, leave people dead and scared for their lives. Loki had made a name for himself. No - Odin made a name for Loki.

_Monster_.

A father who preferred the better son, who pushed his younger son to take upon a mantle slathered with evil just because he is different, because he used magic, a woman's art. A mother who stood by and let everything run its course regardless of the pain it caused him. A brother who never noticed. A people who never understood nor tried to understand.

He is not only a stolen relic, he is the beast that was locked up to protect those around him and only released when they saw fit. He is the wounded animal that was pushed into a corner until all he could do was act out in panic, slaughtering those who stood in his way while the strings on his arms and legs were pulled and steered towards the true target.

But now, there is no Odin. There is no Thor. No Frigga. No Asgard.

Loki can make up his own purpose.

He is _free_.

There is nothing to fear.

* * *

_"Do you trust me?"_

_"Of course."_

* * *

It is a lie. It is a lie. It is a lie. It is a lie.

* * *

There is no way out. There is no end. There is Nothing. He cannot run, cannot escape the monster that looks at him as he falls further and further.

Sometimes Loki thinks about what might have been. He closes his eyes and breathes.

'_What if...I had nothing to fear...'_

* * *

"What is this?"

"It seems to be an Asgardian."

The first speaker looks at the heap of too-pale limbs and worn leather, an eyebrow arched with incredulity and interest. The figure is fast asleep, perhaps destined to never wake again.

"This is no Asgardian."

He can sense the ice flowing within the beings veins, the cold lumps of frozen blood and water that came with only one race in the Nine Realms.

"It is not?"

"No," his voice rumbles deeply as he shifted positions on his throne. He reaches out with a thick digit, stroking the small, helpless creature his servant set before him. "This is a child of ice - _Jotunn_."

His servant bows low, "Forgive me for my mistake, my lord."

"Have you any idea who this is?" he asks, waving off his servants apologies.

"I am afraid that I have none."

The master is silent for a time, contemplating the being that had fallen right into his hands. Though he knows little of the Eternal Realm, he knows enough to figure out the identity of the stranger - not that it's a surprise, the being's name is known even in the reclusive Realm of the Chitauri. It surprises him, however, to find out that the mischievous child of fire is not a child of fire at all.

"No matter, he will prove useful to us."

"How so, my lord?"

"He will take us directly to their heart," he smiles maliciously, a plan already forming in his mind. He strokes the black tendrils of hair and chuckles softly to himself. There is a power he can sense inside the young one, the power of chaos and destruction flows strong within him. No, that isn't right. The master takes a deep breath.

The little one _is_ chaos. The very embodiment of it. Just like his Mistress.

"He is the perfect candidate for our experiment."

* * *

Short. Forgive me. For the wait too. School sucks. Life sucks.

But hey, a chapter!

When I started writing this, it was back in March (or somewhere around there) and then I went on a ridiculously long haitus and ta-da, I'm back, except on here. Hahahahaha, that was before the Avengers came out. So, this isn't exactly where I wanted to goooooo at first, but it will end up where I want it to, so it should be okay.

And this will remain Gen...doesn't mean there won't be subtle hints at a few pairings...

Happy reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I make no profit. I own nothing.

This is an answer to a prompt on Norsekink and a cannon!AU:

_"Scourge; 1. a whip or lash, especially for the infliction of punishment and torture. 2. a person or thing that applies or administers punishment or severe criticism. 3. a cause or affliction or calamity (disease and famine are scourges of humanity)_

_Loki is the Scourge of Odin and the most powerful sorcerer in the Nine Realms. When someone truly angers him, Odin sends Loki to met out punishment. The position has given Loki great power, but he hates it. It isn't the magic he dreamed of performing for Asgard when he started learning spells. Odin also commanded him to secrecy (a misguided attempt to prevent Loki being feared by the Asgardians)._

_Loki can create plagues that wipe out entire populations, famines that starve entire planets, extinctions or overpopulations (locusts ect) that devastate entire ecosystems, and calamity's that change the very shape of the land (wars and natural disasters). Odin keeps the Nine Realms in check with the threat of these._

_When Loki called himself a "monster" he really meant it - the revelation of his Jotun heritage enough to finally push him to say what he's thought of himself and the horrible things he's committed across the Nine Realms in Odin's name. It's also why he tried to destroy Jotunheim, along with destroying a part of himself he hated he was acting out a punishment he truly thought would please Odin._

_When Odin has need of his services, he goes to Midgard to give Loki orders - in front of the Avengers. Thor is horrified to learn Loki is the Scourge all in the Nine Realms live in terror of._

* * *

The pain continues as he falls and it escalates when he lands. It's a shattering impact that leaves him in pieces. He has no magic left. The wards he had woven into his skin are useless without anything to power them. His bones snap. His skin tears. His nerves set themselves alight. He can't even scream - he remembers stitches.

Why is he still alive?

Nothing makes sense. Nothing registers but the blazing heat spreading throughout his body at impossible speeds and levels. Loki tries to move, but abandons the futile mission when he realizes that he can't feel anything. Nothing but fire at least.

He doesn't know where he is or why he is there, but he knows that he is no longer home.

_Home_.

Something wet strikes his cheek and he thinks it odd as sand engulfs his body and the searing sun beats down on him.

* * *

When next he wakes, the shift in light is the first thing he understands. The sun had set. How long had he been unconscious?

Loki waves the sounds of the oppressing silence off, holding it at bay for a little while. Enough time for him to assess his injuries, at least. Physical wounds are the first to be examined.

Lacerations a plenty carve designs into his skin, dried blood crusting at the edges and openings, feeling uncomfortable as his clothes brush against the wounds below them. He moans, but carefully and gently lifts a mostly mended hand - his magic is returning to him, Loki sighs, it is not entirely lost to him - and prods his chest. Hisses escape through clenched teeth. His hand drops, energy spent and exhausted from the effort.

He is so tired. The Fall should have killed him when he hadn't any magic to heal himself. But he is alive, for what purpose? Do the Realms still have a use for its pet monster?

He closes his eyes and listens to the faint sounds of his wards humming weakly with power. He pulls at the strings of magic connected to his core, pleased with how they shiver at his touch, chanting soft phrases and incantations into his ears, drowning out the white noise. His magic is weak, but it is growing stronger. Restoring itself is a tedious process especially with a core as large as his. But he can wait, he always has.

He lets the energy flow through his body before succumbing to sleep.

* * *

Days of lying in this sea of sand pass by before he is finally able to move enough to sit up at least. It is a painfully slow process, but as soon as he is able to sit upright without swaying dangerously, he knows that the accomplishment is worth the wait. He basks in the sun for a moment, his pale skin soaking in the warm rays. It is a bit too hot for his tastes, actually almost boiling, but it is nice after such a storm of ice in the Void.

He doesn't know why he is still alive or how, but it annoys him. His head tips back to look at the seas and rolling golden hills. Such beauty he, as a monster, is not worthy to see.

He is in a desert, he had figured one of the nights afterwards when his mind was coherent enough to register a frequency beyond that of high-pitched pain. It still courses through his body, but it dulls with every drop of magic that drips back into his blood vessels. For now, it remains somewhere in the back of his mind, pressing and wanting of attention, but of no immediate concern.

Considering his actual physiology, the fact that he is not dead yet or in excruciating pain because of the heat means that he is not in Muspelheim. Nor is he in Alfheim, Vanaheim or Svartalfaheim because of how dead the land feels under him, almost no traces of magic thrumming in the soil. It feels different from all the times he had visited those places, when he called out to the magic that ran within them and used its infatuation with his sorcery against its own people. Niflheim and Jotunheim are a definite no. Helheim as well. So is Asgard.

Which left Midgard.

Loki barks out a hoarse laugh. Oh how the Norns smile upon him so, to send him to the place where his not-brother gained redemption. There is no such thing for Loki so it is fitting to send him here to rot. To melt under the shunning presence of a star or perhaps drown in its shadow. Like always.

Oh how will the Trickster die if he cannot take his own life the proper way? Or is he condemned to a life of wandering listlessly, haunting the places of Midgard because his body requires no water nor food really to sustain life - which he knew about through a '_harmless experiment_'.

Stitches fill his mind and the scent of salty tears mingling with copper-filled blood fill his lungs until he's drowning on the inside.

Enough.

He congers one of his throwing knives from his pocket in void-space, holding it weakly between whipcord thin fingers. He holds it over his throat and breathes.

_You must not forget_.

Startled, Loki drops his knife, accidentally cutting his palm open as he tries and fails to catch it. Blood drips down from the wound and he has enough sense to keep it elevated, away from the sand.

Green eyes grow sharper, clearer and wider as they flicker around the barren desert. Who...?

Throat still damaged from screaming and hysterical laughter, Loki can not find it in him to respond to the voice. It is probably a figment of his imagination anyway. Something made up. He is going insane.

The universe does not want him dead yet. He does not even deserve rest or the gift of seeing his daughter again.

_No, you will listen to me, child, you must not forget_.

There it is again.

_Do not forget_.

Don't forget what?

* * *

He doesn't try again.

* * *

Loki dreams often. Sometimes they are figments of his past, before he was led through darkened halls and into that circular chamber, before he was sent to his place of origin to slaughter his targets. Back when things were simpler, where up was up and down was down. When being a mage meant that he was able to amuse Thor and his friends with simple parlour tricks and illusions.

Other times, they are simply filled with darkness. A darkness too much like the Void where he fell and fell and fell some more.

Rarely does he dream of a life that could have been his. Maybe if he had been fully Aesir and fully Odin's, he would have been like Thor. Being Loki is an awful thing to be. Being Loki means failure and monster.

Being Loki meant to live a doomed life.

Being Thor meant the opposite.

He wonders what would have happened if he were Thor and Thor was Loki. Odin and Mother would have loved him like their own child because he would have _been _theirs. He wouldn't be a disappointment. He would have been someone to be proud of.

He looks at the moon above him and cries. There is a sensation bubbling beneath his breast, like a liquid fire swirling endlessly inside him.

He forgives them and that makes the fire burn even more so. He forgives them because he still loves them.

And he dreams to be their son and brother once more.

* * *

A gasp cuts the silence. Loki's eyes snap open. His breaths come in short, heavy bursts as he takes greedy heaves, uncaring if he inhales sand in the process.

The air is hot and stagnant despite the desert night. Heavy, thick. Poisonous and dangerous. Loki can't see anything beyond a blue haze littering the sky. Unnatural blue. Too saturated and bright, so much so that not even Thor's electric azure can compare. Something deep within his chest cavity pulls and it pulls deeply. It feels like magic. Smells like the familiar scents of energy of life. But it's old and it doesn't feel right at all.

Loki shudders, back arched as the fog fills his brain. Whispers creep out from where they were hiding, furthering his already addled mind. Memories, crisp and sharp stream and play on his unseeing eyes. They are so fresh and vivid. Still not yet dulled by time.

A hoarse cry rings in the night and Loki hears it bounce back to him.

It pulls again and he feels compelled to obey. His curiosity overriding his sense much like the blue-tinted mist surrounding him. Where will this pull lead him? He is desperate for an ultimatum. Maybe this will grant him at least that.

_Find the Tesseract_.

The Tesseact. The Cosmic Cube. Loki's eyes light up. It is said that it can bring to life any wishes a creatures has; should they be able to tap into its power. Any command he issues, it will be done. It used to be in the vault when he was a young child. He can still remember the deep bass of its song, vibrating with pure energy that rocked his soul and sent it soaring when he was in its presence. Hadn't Odin sent the Tesseract to Midgard for protection because its power was too great for anyone to be in control of it?

Midgard.

Loki felt his lips quirk. Any wish the wielder wants.

He can alter reality, create his own perfect world.

_You must not forget_.

* * *

It doesn't take long to track down the signature of the Tesseract and follow the gentle song all the way to the twisting turns and corridors of the underground facility. He walks around the place, a simple spell to keep his presence unknown and unseen. He is on Midgard now, a realm he isn't too familiar with.

Loki finds another lost soul in the labrynth and he latches onto its presence, letting the mortal man lead him. They are heading in the same direction and if the situation with Mjolnir is anything to go by and should the Tesseract be in the hands of the Midgardians, chances are, it is being help under surveillance.

He is right.

By the time they arrive at their destination, there is another man. Loki flinches as he looks at the eyepatch warping around his hairless head, covering the left eye. His skin is dark and his beard is short. His eye, brown and the other seemed to have faint scars peaking out from beneath the black cloth. The resemblance didn't settle well with him at all.

The humans begin to talk and Loki waits patiently, biding his time and gathering his strength. When the Tesseract is finally brought out, he can barely contain his excitement and glee at seeing the familiar churning blue wisps of limitless energy confined in the small cube. He purrs as it reaches out to him. No more weak Loki. No more being mocked for being a sorcerer. Magic is a fine craft and the more his magic mingles with the Cube's the more euphoric he feels. It's better than anything else he had ever felt in his life.

_Do not forget_.

Right. He must retrieve it and have it, not merely admire it from a distance, drinking off of the small leaks of magic like a desperate beggar.

Loki reaches into the first man's mind and whispers words into his ear.

"Well, I guess that's worth a look."

_Good. Come back, child_.

Yes, there is much to do. He cannot simply pluck the Tesseract from the grubby fingers of the mortals; he must rip it from their hands in a show of who is more powerful. Of who is the true god of the universe. Midgard will be the launching point. From there, all the Realms will know and hear the words of truth as it spills from his lips.

_Long live Death_.

Long live Death.

* * *

The Other hurries back, his hood nearly flying off of his disfigured face in his haste.

"My lord," he says respectfully, kneeling on the ground in front of the throne. His lord waves a hand and he rises on command, all twelve fingers shaking in excitement.

"Speak."

"My lord, the experiment is a success. We have tamed Chaos and we have news of the Tesseract's location. We are ready to proceed with our plans."

His lord nods once.

"Call back our pet and begin with the preparations."

"Of course, my lord."

* * *

Orange eyes stare into the blackness of space, roaming over the galaxies and stars interspersed with life forms of every kind.

"Gatekeeper, what do you see?"

A beat.

"I see not what you seek."

* * *

I'm sorry there are a lot of waits in between chapters now...I'm just falling into a black cloud of nothingness and despair. But oh well, if I find myself falling, at least on Earth, I'll end up on the other side...unless I get burnt into a crisp because of our molten center.

Anywho! On the chapter. Can anyone smell what's on the horizon?

Happy reading!


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